Sky Full of Stars
by editorbit
Summary: "If I could write the beauty of your eyes And in fresh numbers number all your graces, The age to come would say, 'This poet lies; Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.'" - Shakespeare


Legolas' eyes are open, though he is not awake. The pair of eyes are fixated on the star filled sky draped over the party of nine and their camp, though they're not looking at the sky. There's a hint of an unfocused look in his eyes, giving away the fact that the elf is very much asleep. Yet they're nothing like the lifeless eyes of the dead, ones Boromir has seen many of.

Boromir lies close enough to the elf to catch the way the stars reflect in his eyes. The light is dim, the small fire serving as their only source of light save for the moon peeking out between the trees every so often. Legolas' eyes are dark, much unlike the light - blue if he's not mistaken - colour they hold during the day. Glistening with the reflection of the stars they almost look like little pieces of the sky, or dark lakes during the night reflecting the stars just like now. It is a sight to behold and Boromir finds his own eyes incapable of looking away, like a spell has been cast over him.

The fire eventually dies out and the air grows ever so slightly colder to the point he can see his own breaths in the air in front of him. Legolas' eyes still hold the light from the stars. The moon has decided to come out from its hiding spot behind the tall, dark trees and leaves almost a faint glow on the elf's skin. Boromir concludes he's never looked more alive and immortal than now, like this. It's fascinating. It's like nothing he has ever seen before and he drinks in the sight like a man left without water for days.

There is a whisper of want to reach out and touch the immortal being, to run his fingers over his defined cheekbones and feel the glowing skin, or inch ever so slightly closer and get a better look, to look into those glittering eyes and watch the stars. Pushing himself up into a sitting position and scooting closer, slowly and quietly, he does just that.

The skin under his gentle fingers is soft, untouched and free of any imperfections Boromir's mortal eyes can see and he finds it's hard to believe just how old the elf is. He looks nothing older than himself, far from it, nor will he most likely ever. The world could wither and perish around him and he'd come out of it all unscathed, soft skin untouched and eyes still teeming with life.

The starlit eyes meet his own and he's quick to pull away. His lips part and an odd, almost flustering sound escapes rather than any of the myriad of excuses he has conjured up in his mind during the moments the two had locked eyes. The brows seated above the pair of eyes he manages to finally gather enough strength to tear his gaze from are ever so slightly furrowed in confusion, or perhaps anticipation. Boromir clears his throat and swallows before daring to make yet another attempt to speak.

His voice isn't as confident as he would like it to be when he does speak and certainly isn't very convincing either. Meeting Legolas' gaze once more halfway through the sentence does little to help. He finds his words trailing off and disappearing into the dark, the half-finished excuse along with it, like the breaths of air escaping his parted lips.

The eyes he finds himself peering into are ones one could almost drown in if one gets too close. Though Boromir is fairly sure drowning in those eyes would feel much unlike the feeling of drowning in a real body of water. Panic and fear is nowhere to be found in the elf's eyes and falling into them would be nothing but a bath in starlight.

"Can't you sleep, Boromir?" Legolas eventually speaks, voice much unlike his own almost stuttering one. Boromir concludes his name has never sounded any better than just now, uttered softly and quietly in the dark silent night by the immortal elf's lips. The man nods before he can think the question through, though he can feel the weight of his eyelids and his eyes are threatening to close. If he lies down at this very moment he'll drift off to sleep immediately, he's fairly sure. It's been a tiring day filled to the brim with walking, step after step to the point the number of steps own a name Boromir's never even imagined before. His feet ache and he longs for the opportunity to take his shoes off, but doesn't. The night is cold.

The elf before him shifts where he lies on the ground, seemingly pulling the cloak out from thin air, though it must have been what Legolas had been resting his blond head of hair on. The fabric is soft to the touch and Boromir holds the cloak in his hands for a moment, unsure what to do with it. His eyelids are heavy and Boromir struggles to keep them from falling, let alone think of what to do with what the elf has just given him to use.

Yet another visible breath of air escapes his lips. A pair of eyes watches him. A wave of goosebumps spreads across his skin. If it's the cold air or the captivating eyes he does not know, but he figures the elf has noticed the cold seemingly affecting him, much unlike how it seems nothing but a mere change of temperature to Legolas himself.

The man wraps the cloak around himself and for a moment it feels as if the temperature has risen again. If it's just a figment of his imagination and sleep is catching up to him he doesn't know. Perhaps he's dreaming it all together. The eyes watching him lie down in the spot beside the elf are something worthy of a dream. Reaching a hand out from the warm embrace of the cloak and into the cold air, he gently touches the elf's cheek. Were this a dream, would he be able to touch him? Is the soft glowing skin a hint of the real life flame they'd set up earlier still burning? Are the eyes two real stars in the sky rather than reflections of them?

Boromir figures it's all real. The soft smile seems too real to be just a mere dream, at least he hopes.


End file.
